Shouse Reports from Pingtung Taiwan

Ok! We're back and so far healthy. What an experience! At first I was going to write out a lengthy description of everything we did. But after actually doing this, I realized that my words were not adequate to convey the wonders of this trip. In a few days I'll have some pictures, and you know what they say about pictures vs. words. For now, let me just begin by saying that we went through two weeks worth of serious conniptions over this trip because of the SARS epidemic. Early on my thought was that our safety would increase as the number of travelers decreased. This rationale worked fine until about five days before the trip when things very quickly got more serious. About three days before we left, we had to confirm our trip--we did; and that night, for the first time, as I lay in bed, I became very frightened about what we were about to do.

Over the next two days about half the people I talked to advised me not to go. As we contemplated the risks, we really felt that they were quite small, and yet we wondered how much we would really enjoy ourselves on the trip if we flinched every time we heard a cough or sneeze. The morning before we were to leave we were still undecided, but we reached a peculiar agreement. Lillian's sister, Shiang Yi, was supposed to be sending us some surgical masks (Pingtung was completely sold out). If we received them by that afternoon (Thursday), we would go, if not, we would not.

Once the masks came we went into high gear. Our mindset shifted completely. There was something like an adrenalin rush. The next morning we took a cab from Pingtung to Kaohsiung International Airport. It was virtually empty. Our Dragonair flight to Hong Kong had about 20 people on it. We wore our masks during the entire 1 hour 20 minute flight, except when they served us drinks and food (a very nice feature of Dragonair's economy class). After circling over Hong Kong for about 20 minutes due to bad weather, we landed and entered Hong Kong International Airport. Well, it was like some Steven King movie. The skies were all gray, the airport was gray and nearly empty. Am I thinking of "The Langoliers"? Despite our anxiety, we actually used the restroom and bought some water, a magazine, and some snacks. Our masks were the best you can buy (for under $5, that is), but they were uncomfortable and they steamed up my glasses.

Let me quickly summarize the next five days. We ate tremendously delicious food, toured 500 year old gardens and palaces, climbed part of the Great Wall (for some reason it had never quite dawned on me that one would have to do so much climbing!), and danced on the tables at a popular Beijing night club. I also got to do much of the driving around Beijing. Beijing struck me as being very clean, orderly, and modern. Our friend's apartment (where we stayed) was very nice and spacious. We watched TV a lot; CNN, MSNBC, HBO, and a bootleg copy of "The Two Towers."

As of today, we are all very healthy. There was not much news about SARS over there. Once we got back to Taiwan we discovered that there were maybe 60 SARS cases in Beijing hospitals. But that's 60 out of 10 million.

I left China wanting to return some day to see more of this huge and scenic country. Now you'll just have to wait for the photos.

Here are some pics. Not all of them, not necessarily the best, but just the ones I managed to get ready for the web. I think the first one is Eva Mei riding the escalator at a Beijing shopping mall and showing off her "hand-blown sugar horse ornament." (I can't think of what else to call it!)

Here's a shot of the three of us at the Forbidden City. I wondered why, with a name like that, they would let anyone in. Then someone hit me. Seriously, the Forbidden City, dating back to the 1600's, was the home of the Emperor and the administrative headquarters of his regime. What you see here in the background is just one gateway--the place is immense. Notice the ample free parking. Actually, this area should be much more crowded. The SARS epidemic seemed to be keeping people away.

And speaking of SARS, here are Lillian and Eva Mei showing off at the Hong Kong airport.

Here's Eva Mei, dazzled, at Beijing's A Fun Ti nightclub. A Fun Ti was a remarkable place where you can hear traditional "middle eastern type" music from northwest China and see beautiful women perform tantalizing dances. I, of course, was mainly interested in the food, which was very good.

And here's our girl inside the Great Wall at Badaling. We rode a cable car up to the wall itself, then proceeded to climb all about. When I first got up to the wall, my first reaction was to whine, "oh, I didn't know there'd be steps at the wall!" -- I mean, these were the longest steepest steps I'd ever seen. Eva Mei insisted on climbing to the highest point. Though I tried to discourage her ("there's boogiemen up there!"), she really really wanted to go. So, finally, I gave in and told her godmother Yu to run up there with her. After a few minutes of deep shame, I gradually made the climb myself.

Here's Eva Mei, Cheng Yu (aka, "Kate," aka, Ga Ma, aka, Shau Yu), and Shiang Jeou. Yu is a very dear friend of ours from back at U. Chicago. She has a fascinating story about growing up, leaving, and returning to China. Her father was an associate of Mao Tse-dong. I've seen a photograph of him and Mao floating together in a small rowboat.

A few more thoughts on China. It is such a complicated place, complicated by its culture and its politics. Look at how they struggled to keep their SARS epidemic secret. Part of this certainly began with denial. Last fall we were hearing about some mysterious "chicken" disease in southern China. I suppose that at first the medical authorities only became slowly puzzled (as "flu" symptoms are fairly common) and political authorities only became slowly concerned. But the first concern of the political authorities was most likely how to stop people from worrying about the increasing spread of flu-like symptoms. As Hong Kong, a much less controlled and much more open to the world society, began to experience the problem, the world soon became aware. But China was still believing it could silently "administrate" the problem. In fairness, when you have a billion people in your country, 500 cases of something that looks like flu may seem like a minor blip on the radar.

But the standard operating procedure in China (and often in Taiwan) is to deny; deny any knowledge and deny any information to those seeking it. Think about this; China has developed the technology to block Internet sites almost as quickly as one closes an automatic garage door. It also exercises heavy control over its citizens access to books, magazines, and other news media. And yet, upon our arrival in Beijing, I was able to watch CNN and MSNBC on our hostess' cable TV. I was able to purchase the International Herald Tribune (a US/Europe-based newspaper) and the Economist (a British newsmagazine) at a nearby hotel. I later found that I could access MSNBC on the Web (but not the Drudge Report or Free Republic). Of course, not everyone (by a long shot) has cable TV in China and not everyone lives near a "western-style" hotel. But apparently, if you can afford it, information is relatively "free" in China.

With money, one can have a good life in Beijing. But you need a lot of it. A basic car will run you about $35,000 US dollars. Our hostess, born in China, was now a US citizen working for a large American firm. With this kind of socioeconomic status, one can be relatively comfortable and free. It is through this kind of lens that we viewed Beijing and China.

Since coming back to Taiwan, it seems that the SARS problem has deepened in Hong Kong and China. When we came back through Kaohsiung Airport, they took our temperatures. Fortunately neither us nor anyone on our plane had a fever. It turns out that people on another flight that arrived the same day as ours were not so fortunate. A China Air flight from Hong Kong to Kaohsiung had one passenger with a fever and this, indeed, turned out to be a SARS case. The people from that flight are still in quarantine. It appears that we lucked out.

Tomorrow (Saturday) we are driving to Chiayi, a city about two hours north of here, near the mountain Alishan. Alishan is where they had the terrible mountain train crash last month. I hope we can see the mountain. I understand that the train is back in business, but I don't think we'll be riding it. Basically, Lillian's friend invited us to come up for a visit. Next week, Wednesday, we're flying (or driving, or taking a bus, perhaps) back to Taipei for a few days. Ruth's Chris, here we come!

Last Tuesday, the day before we flew to Taipei, we heard on the news that SARS had broken out at the city's Hoping Hospital. This is where my sister-in-law, Shiang-Yi, works as a nurse. We called her to see if she was alright. Sure, she said. I'm not even in that part of the hospital. Don't worry. So, the next day we flew from Pingtung to Taipei and had a terrific day. We visited with Taipei's Deputy Fire Chief and his wife and Eva Mei got to see a lot of neat fire stuff. Later that evening, Shiang-Yi came home and we went out to dinner at a very nice place. We ate a ton of food and at one point, very stuffed, I said something like, "It's a good idea to eat a lot because you never know what your next meal might be a box lunch slid under your door by a community health worker!" And we all laughed.

The next day, the news about Hoping Hospital was getting worse. The SARS cases occurred in various parts of the hospital and no one really knew how it was being spread. Shiang-Yi went to work anyway. That morning I said to Lillian, "you know, they could quarantine her!" Lillian called Shiang-Yi and asked her about this. She said, "don't worry, I know where all the windows are. I'll jump out if I have to!" And we went shopping.

About 4:00 PM we got back to Shiang-Yi's apartment and were surprised to see her home. She told us that the hospital officials, after telling everyone the previous day that the hospital would not be closed, had shut down and sealed the place off around noon. No one, no patient, no staff, no visitor, would be allowed to leave for at least 2 weeks. People who had gone to visit family members were now under "quarantine" and it didn't matter if you had kids on their way home from school, a job to get back to, or whatever; you were going to be held there.

Shiang-Yi was true to her word. She found a window and jumped, along with numerous other detainees. The main reason she had jumped was to talk to us, take a shower, and pack a bag to go back. I, however, raised a number of questions. First of all, she had just been found free of SARS the day before, and to go back now would dramatically increase her chances of catching the disease. Second, what kind of scoundrel hospital administration "tricks" its employees into quarantine in this way? Third, does the hospital need her services as a nurse? Or is this just the government's way of showing its strength and resolve to a frightened public?

For several hours, we all talked. Eva Mei was so upset by this that she actually wrote Shiang-Yi a beautiful letter in Chinese telling her why she should not go back. At one point, Shiang-Yi had decided not to go back. But most of her friends were going back, and the TV news was calling on all staff to go back, and--worst of all--it was made known that staff members might be fined the US equivalent of $2000 or even be fired for not going back.

Faced with all this, and having just one more year to work before retirement, my sister-in-law went back. We were all terribly sad. We offered to help her pay any fine. We continued to express our frustration with the apparent irrationality of the government's response. But in the end, Shiang-Yi had to make the decision. And when she did, I tried to explain to Eva Mei that we had to help "Jao-Jou Yi" by being brave and giving her a big hug. This was very hard for Eva Mei (and for me). Before she left, Shiang-Yi picked up her back and swinging her arms in a marching sort of way said in Chinese, "Eva Mei! I'm off to join the army!"

The next day we found out some disturbing things. First, all family members of Hoping staff were to be quarantined in their homes for 14 days. Guess what, folks. That's us! We made plans to get out of the apartment as soon as possible. Second, we found out that -- and this is so hard to understand -- even Hoping staff who had been on vacation, who had not even been at the hospital during the outbreak, were to report for quarantine. Third, we found out that many doctors and higher level administrators had not shown up for quarantine. Apparently, if you had enough clout, you could evade the order. We also found out that some visitors had been allowed to go quarantine themselves at home for 14 days. Some, however, were required to remain at Hoping.

Then something encouraging happened. I had been wondering why everyone just seemed to accept all of this without much question. Suddenly the cable news was reporting on a major protest at one of the hospital doors. Several nurses had made a banner that read in Chinese something like "How long? 14 days? 30 days? Forever?" The nurses were shouting about how they had been lured or duped into coming back to the hospital. One nurse said she had been threatened with a fine even though she had been on vacation for a week and was perfectly healthy. A small group of them burst through the quarantine line, past a line of police. They handed out flyers and messages to the media who were there. None of them tried to leave the area and eventually they all returned inside.

Today (Sunday) these nurses are being threatened with large fines. A political cartoon in one paper compared them to firefighters who refused to enter a burning building. I think this is an awful comparison. Why? Because all but about 30 of Hoping's patients were transferred to other hospitals the previous night. As of today, there are 19 confirmed SARS patients at Hoping. So, how many nurses does it take to serve 19 patients? Let's assume that each patient needs at least six nurses, two for each eight hour shift. Do the math. Oh, let's make it 10 nurses, just to be really safe. We're talking fewer than 200 nurses and we haven't even taken into consideration the fact that one nurse can serve more than one patient at a time. Now, how many nurses were forced into quarantine? Hoping has about 500 nurses, all of whom are being forced to report, even those who are currently out of the country or on vacation. To me, this sounds less like "quarantine," more like "involuntary servitude."

We successfully evaded the "quarantine police" for the remainder of our trip. On Friday, we took Lillian's brother's family out to dinner. It was a bit of fun, but dampened greatly by the absence of Shiang-Yi. I wanted to leave the following day, but Lillian and Eva Mei thought we could hold out until Sunday (today). So, we are now back in Pingtung.

But I have a new feeling now. I am ready to leave. I fear SARS a little bit, but I fear civil panic even more. I don't want myself or my family to be forced into any quarantine situation, particularly if we are healthy. I've asked Lillian to begin packing. My "trip wire" has nearly gone off. I think we'll stay for now, but we'll be watching this situation very closely. If anything like this begins to creep southward, that "trip wire" will send us back home.

Yesterday, having volunteered to "go first," Shiang-Yi began caring for SARS patients at Hoping Municipal Hospital. She worked continuously from 9 AM to 5 PM. When she wasn't directly serving patients she was cleaning the area (no nurses aides available or willing, apparently). She went for 8 hours without food, water, or bathroom break (mostly because it was so difficult to do these things without removing your protective clothing).

The number of suspected cases in Hoping has risen to around 75. Only 19 are confirmed at this point. Conditions inside the hospital are improving as health officials get their act together and begin to act in a more humane fashion.

I am still working to get a consistent answer concerning what procedures would be if, for example, someone at a public school or college contracted the disease. How far will any forced quarantine reach?

The past few days have been some of the most troubling and uncertain I've ever experienced. I guess a lot of this comes from the fact that I do have a place I can "escape" to. I can take my family back home and I have to grapple with the decision of whether or not to do so. I guess most citizens here don't have to make that choice. And they don't look at "home quarantine" the same way we do. For them, it's really home quarantine. For me, it's being forced into a small apartment that has long been a poor substitute for "home."

Here's a story excerpted from today's Taipei Times: "Frightened nurse says government guilty of murder":

"While the Taipei City Government vowed to track down Taipei Municipal Hoping Hospital's (TMHH) 32 missing health workers, a runaway nurse wrote a letter accusing the government of murder by trying to force her back to the hospital.

"The letter, which appeared yesterday in a Chinese-language newspaper, pointed to her human rights and demanded the government grant the hospital's staff 'the right to choose domestic quarantine.'

"'Putting us amongst the patients has encroached on our right to live,' the nurse said.

"Ou Chin-der, a Taipei deputy mayor, said yesterday the city government has deployed civil-affairs officials and the police to trace the absconded hospital staff.

"'They will be fined between NT$60,000 [about $2000 US] and NT$300,000. The police will bring them back to the hospital by force if necessary,' Ou announced at a press conference.

"However, the letter from the TMHH nurse said that despite government warnings of hefty fines and severe punishment, the threat of SARS is still greater than the penalties.

"The letter continued, 'The hospital has been phoning me, threatening to lay me off. But I still insisted on quarantining myself at home, because no punishment can exceed the terror cast by the shadow of SARS.'"

I spent the entire morning visiting local elementary schools with President Lin and Dr. Lee. We went to four schools and I have to tell you they are much like, yet much different from, those in the US. I'm sure that last statement didn't help much so I'll try to describe them a bit more. First of all, schools in Taiwan tend to be very large. A school with 600 students is a "small school," though there are some rural schools with as few as 200 students. One elementary school in Taipei has over 5000 students. The class sizes are large by US standards, usually at least 30, often as high as 40 students in one class.

The buildings are "open air." That is, they are structured along the same lines as an old fashioned motel, with long strips of multi-leveled buildings, usually in a "U" shape, wide enough for one classroom and a walkway outside. They have a large courtyard in the center that is attached to a much larger play field (usually with a track, basketball courts, and playground equipment). Because of their structure, there is not a huge need for air conditioning (well, there would be if I was working there) because the breezes flow through like water through a tea bag (and that's what the breezes often feel like around here--warm water).

The students appear happy and full of energy but are very well behaved. Walking past classrooms you get a sense of "good attitude" toward the tasks of learning, listening to the teacher, and doing their work. Elementary school students attend school for a half day each weekday except Tuesday (which is a full day). Even on the half days there seem to be about three or four 10-20 minute recesses. At these times the students play freely and largely unsupervised all over the campus of the school. They may go in and out of their classroom, wander about the open air walkways and courtyard, or play in the field or on the equipment. I observed many different kinds of games being played, including the dreaded "dodge ball." Kids seem to bring their own toys from home as well.

There is a real sense of "looseness" in the elementary schools I saw. People are relaxed. Teachers dress nicely, but often in jeans. I saw student teachers in jeans and t-shirts. Even during instructional class time, you seldom get the sense that the teacher is "running a tight ship." I suspect there is no need to. The students seem to have their own sense of orderliness. They aren't sitting in their desks like stiff little angles; you'll see them passing notes or small toys to each other or drinking water or juice, even eating sometimes. But it seems clear that they are all paying attention to the teacher and they all seem to follow directions rather quickly when they're given. And when they're given work to do, they seem to do it without much delay or fooling around. I saw a lot of "group work" being performed.

The best way I can describe the climate in the schools I saw is to say that it is one of "happy orderliness." It was certainly not one of "strict control." The "control" seems mostly internalized and indirect. There are strong cultural understandings about how one should behave in school--but these understandings include the idea that kids will want to run around "like crazy" some of the time. These Taiwanese children get ample opportunity for that, right along with their academic learning.

Just time for a quick note or two. On Saturday we ventured out to Kaohsiung again, dining out with friends at the Landis Hotel. We'd heard that they had the best buffet in town and if you know me, then you know that this is like major bait. The Landis is one of Kaohsiung's very classy hotels and on the night we visited it we were met at the door by three or four attendants who very nicely insisted on spraying our hands with some kind of anti-bacterial wash. It wasn't just because of how we looked-- they sprayed everyone!

Anyhow, we get up to the 6th floor buffet room and although it's very crowded we are seated immediately. These large hotel buffets in Taiwan are very interesting. It's not just steam tables filled with pre-cooked food. They have these, of course, but there are also "ice tables" filled with fresh meat, fish, shrimp, vegetables. The table where you are seated has little clips with numbers on them (corresponding to your table). You take these clips and either drop them in labeled baskets ("Lamb," "Beef," "Edible Frog," etc.) or clip them on a plate that you've filled with eel kabob, chicken, prawns, live crabs, etc. (I will tell you more about the "Edible Frog" later.)

The food was very good. I started with the "traditional American salad bar." You seldom see "regular" tomatoes here and I have no idea why. Mostly you get cherry tomatoes and they are very delicious, like sweet fruit. After this I found the shrimp tempura, which is an extreme favorite of mine (and one of the few "delicious" things you can get back in Pingtung). I took my clips and ordered up a few eel kabobs. Though I knew they were "kabobs," I didn't really know they were eel until the waitress brought them to our table. But they tasted pretty good, "not something you wanna eat every day...."

There was prime rib and leg of lamb and giant crab legs and smaller crabs that you really couldn't figure out how to eat once you got them. There was sushi and sashimi and orange duck and lots of strange looking things that I really wanted no part of. There were fresh vegetables that they cook to order (again, you use one of those number clips--just drop it in the basket beneath the asparagus, spinach, green beans, etc.). I was about to get dessert when I suddenly had a hankerin' for some "edible frog."

Now, as a rule, I expect everything served at a buffet to be "edible." I don't want to see one label saying "beef" and another saying "edible beef." That's just me. So I didn't go looking for the "inedible frog" basket but instead just dropped my number clip in the "edible" basket. It took a long long time for the dish to come. At one point the waitress brought us a plate full of large shelled creatures, something like snails but larger. Thinking that this was what they meant by "edible frog," I quickly passed them on to the other end of the table and jumped up to get my dessert (chocolate "edible" mousse). About a minute after I scarffed down my fancy pudding the real "edible frog" was served.

I guess I thought they were going to be the legs of the edible frog, but, in fact, they went "whole hog" and cooked the entire frog. Little frogs, they were, with a ginger and garlic seasoning. I took one bite and hit bone (I think it was bone) right away. I managed to find a little meat there, however, and it didn't taste so bad. "This tastes just like chicken!" I said. "In fact," I added, "I should have ordered chicken!" It turns out that the Chinese word for frog translates into "water chicken" or something like that. I said, "that's great! What's "turtle"? Land fish?"

Ah, but it was a wonderful evening. I'd gladly go back. They even had smelt (fresh and cooked while you wait).

I had an opportunity to interview a group of young female students from a 5-year junior college program. These girls "opted out" of the regular public high school system at the age of 16. Instead of taking the high school entrance exam, they chose a program sponsored by a local college in which they would basically complete high school, focus on a particular academic or vocational area, but without all the test taking and studying pressure of the regular public high school. These girls majored in English and were very good English speakers.

I learned a lot from them about their lives and plans for the future. They were all going to graduate this year, had already taken their final exams, and were quite eager to talk. In a nutshell, they have "big dreams" but see little hope for achieving them. They are worried about the future of Taiwan. They value leisure time. They are not completely typical young women, but perhaps they are expressing some feelings common throughout Taiwan. This is the short version. Maybe I'll write more about them later.

Last Saturday morning, President Lin called us up, said he had a new 4-wheel drive car, and wanted to take us out to the mountains. You can't pass up an offer like that! So we drove about two hours north to the Alishan ("shan" means mountain, "Ali," well, that's obviously a tribute to the legendary fighter, Mohammed Ali). Alishan is where they had that horrible train wreck about three months ago. Anyhow, we drove for what seemed like miles (but were actually only kilometers) over a narrow bike path of a road. After quite a while we reached a mountain hotel that was very nice and would have been packed with people any other weekend. But this weekend it was empty, totally empty, because of SARS. It was sad.

I don't say much because I don't want people to worry. But I know people are worrying anyway, and I think it is therapeutic for me to write about my feelings. Quite frankly, I am feeling a great deal of worry and stress over the SARS outbreak. First of all, I, like everyone here, am worried about possibly catching the disease. The odds are very small, perhaps, but we all know they could shoot up in any 24 hour period. Second, because this is not my home I am faced with the decision of whether or not to leave here before the semester ends. Will I make the right decision? People who live here don't have this extra burden. Third, I know that people back in America are worrying about me, and this worries me. Fourth, I am simply worried about being worried. You don't really notice it at first, but after a while you realize that your worries have become larger than they really are and you are worrying about your worries. This is the point when you physically start to feel the stress, and I've been feeling like I'm carrying a big load suspended from a spike through my chest, though sometimes it just feels like heartburn. Finally, I hate the idea that our big year here must end this way. I wanted us to look back on this year as an accomplishment. I don't like the idea that the best-case summary of our trip will be, "We survived the SARS crisis." I can see it now; Eva Mei wearing a shirt that reads "My parents survived SARS and all I got was this stupid T-shirt!"

SARS has led to a substantial decrease in the size of my "circle of possibilities." Here's what I mean. One of the ways I kept my sanity over the past year is by realizing that Pingtung and Taiwan held many opportunities for me. Even if I couldn't live the life I was used to in central PA, I could explore new areas, both professionally and geographically. We could travel to Taipei, Hong Kong, Singapore, Kenting Park, etc., and have amazing adventures. This has become less and less possible now. For example, I was invited to give a talk at Central Police University in Taipei next week. But for me, traveling to Taipei right now is the adult version of a child's trip to extreme dental care camp. Not only does the fear of catching SARS hang over our head, but the freedom Taipei used to offer us is rapidly vanishing. There is no subway travel without a mask. Many public buildings require masks. Cabs drive with windows down only, no more AC. There is no hope for relaxation, only an expectation of rigid tension, worries about touching the wrong escalator handrail or standing too close to the wrong coughing person.

Another example of what I'm talking about: On or about April 24th of this year, a cashier in the women's shoe department at the main Sogo Department Store went to work as usual, but with a fever. A week later she was confirmed to have SARS. Sogo, under government and customer pressure, shut down it's store for cleaning for three days. Do you know where Lillian, Eva Mei, and I were on April 26? That's right, in the women's shoe department at Sogo. Eva Mei and Lillian, in fact, strolled around the area for about 20 minutes (while I headed elsewhere). You can tell me how the chances of us catching anything were still very small, but that's hindsight. Would you go to a department store, even knowing that one person in the entire store had SARS? Probably not even if that person were on the 10th floor and you were only making a quick stop in the basement.

Even Kaohsiung has become troublesome. One of its hospitals now holds upwards of 20 suspected and confirmed SARS cases. Still, people tell me that everything is alright. But these are people who live here. They have to say that because they want us to feel better.

And, as I said, the circle is tightening professionally. They have prohibited "non-students" and "non-faculty" from the college library. This means Lillian and Eva Mei. The hell with this, I say. This campus is "our home" and it's like they're telling us we can no longer use one of our comfortable rooms. I'm ready to test this policy; when I get frustrated enough I will, and it will not be pleasant for anyone. Yesterday they began restricting the use of rooms where I show films to my students. Film is a big part of my teaching and I've been enjoying this tremendously. Now, apparently, if I want to show a film, it must be in a large uncomfortable room with the windows open and the AC off. You know about the awful heat and humidity here. Even the greatest film isn't worth sitting through two hours of it.

Tomorrow they begin taking temperatures of everyone coming into my building. This is reasonable, but it's just one more reminder of the "new world" we're living in, the "new world" that we can leave if we wish, but the "new world" that still somehow compels us to stay for another five weeks.

Still, don't worry about us. Don't misread my words so as to infer some dramatic impending threat. We'll be alright. Frustrated, tense, and somewhat fearful, but alright.

Something rotten happened this evening and I can't even write about it because doing so might mess up something for someone. How's that for an opening line? It was a foul-up that had nothing to do with anyone on this side of the Pacific Ocean. It was a foul-up that prevented me from being a part of something that I had been looking forward to for quite a while. Were it not for the slew of other worries and hassles I've experienced lately I probably wouldn't mention it here. But now it's the icing on the mud cake. Let's just say this: a university like Penn State ought to have its act together enough to be able to establish a phone link from one of its meeting rooms to my office over here.

I'm afraid my writing is going to turn into a laundry list of complaints about the world and my life in it. So, I need to fight this. Let me try to do so by mentioning, if I haven't already or if I haven't mentioned it enough, that the people here at National Pingtung Teachers College have been wonderful to us. My friend and former student Chen Ren-fu has done so much to help us adjust to life here. He's gone out of his way to help us even when we had a bad attitude. From last October when he brought Lillian that birthday cake until just yesterday when he passed on my grouching comments about college SARS policies to higher ups here at NPTTC, he's been a real friend. And I don't mean only since October. President Lin and his wife have also helped us feel at home here. They've taken us on outings, out to dinner, had us to their house, and have simply been very very friendly and understanding in so many ways. My next door office neighbor, Chang Ching-Shiun, has helped me in dozens of different ways. I will never forget their kindness, hospitality, and friendship.

But I still gotta say--if you're taking everyone's temp coming in the building, then why do we have to wear masks in the library? I just couldn't stop typing without at least one crummy complaint! (Laugh here.)

Well, it looks like this is almost turning into some sort of page where I write something every day! What's that called again? A ...a...oh yeah, a DIARY. Well, don't get used to it my friends. "It's just a silly phase I'm goin' through...," he sang. But I need to tell you about something that happened last week and I didn't tell you last week because I didn't want anyone to worry last week. It was Monday morning. Eva Mei is pulling her typical "Idonwannagodaschool" thing while I'm headed out the door. I say, "yesyoudowannagodaschool" and she says, "Mommy, bu shufu," and I say, "you are too shufu!" "Shufu," by the way, means "comfortable" or "well." I think. And "bu," of course, means "not." Anyhow, when I came home for lunch later I discovered that young Shyu Yin Mei (her Chinese name) tossed her cookies after I left. (I don't think I have to translate that.) Not only that, but she's very warm. I know she's got a fever. We borrow a thermometer from our friends and it turns out her temp is about 38.4 (that's upwards of 100.4 for you Celsius-challenged readers). Now, everyone who's been paying any attention at all to the news around here knows that 38 is the "magic number." Hit that number and you're immediately suspected of having SARS.

I had to teach that evening, but before I left we managed to get hold of some children's ibuprofen. (The children complained when we took their ibuprofen, but that's life.) It brought her fever down to near normal. The problem with SARS fever, however, is that you might bring it down a little for a little while, but then it shoots back up. Fortunately, this did not happen. We took her to the doctor yesterday, despite our fear that we'd all be quarantined. Right away, because Ms. Mei also had some tummy trouble, the doctor diagnoses it as Norwalk Virus. One way you catch Norwalk virus is by eating raw shellfish, oysters, etc., which have been prepared by someone who did not wash his hands very well. Now, what had Little Ee-ver been eating on Saturday night? What is one of her favorite foods? Raw oysters, of course. I had passed on them because the raw oysters over here have a bitterness that I just don't appreciate.

So, our girl finally got to do the TV couch party thing for a couple more days before going back to school on Thursday morning. The thing is it was really scary. And it may help explain why I seem so stressed out lately in my writing. We just can't live a normal life here now. Everything is filtered through SARS-vision.

Things are moving fast. Each day we get our temperature taken before we can enter the campus. This means we get it taken even when we walk to our car across the street from our apartment. If you're below 38, you get a cute little circle sticker, dated and color-coded. But if we go to any large store (like Sogo or Carrefour) we must have it taken again. I'm just glad this isn't 1960, when there were only two ways to take someone's temperature! Nowadays they either stick something in your ear, or they shine a laser on your forehead.

But I started by saying that things are moving fast. We had made up our mind to leave here no later than the second week of June. But yesterday afternoon President Lin suggested that we could leave sooner. He told us he had a responsibility for our health as well as that of all his students and other faculty. (He also took us out to Pizza Hut, which, to me, really demonstrated his responsibility to our mental health!)

So, we are aiming now at the first week of June. Week after next. Lillian must find some substitute teachers. I don't need to do that. We are relieved. We are happy thinking about coming home. We are hoping all will be well until we leave. I am also sad about how I am leaving. I knew I'd be sad and happy when this odyssey came to an end. But I never dreamed I'd be leaving friends, students, and colleagues behind in such an awful situation. Many, if not most, of the people I talk to believe that SARS is not going to get better soon.

Today we are happy because Shiang-Yi flew down to visit us. We had some duck for lunch, a lot of laughs, and some serious talk about her experience and the whole SARS problem. We're going down to Dong Gang tonight for a seafood dinner.

This past Friday night I drank a whole bottle of red wine by myself. I slept great and felt better the next morning than I have in weeks. Howdya figure? Should I do that every night?

Now I have to think of some good words for my students. I wish I could have taught them more. I wish I could have taught them more English. I hope I helped teach them how to think. I will miss every one of them. I hope they know they can always come see me in the US.

"Dong Gang" means "eastern port," which is strange because it lies on the west coast of Taiwan. We all drove down there yesterday afternoon, Lillian, Eva Mei, Shiang Yi, and I plus Eva Mei's friend I-Ching, her brother, parents, and aunt. It's about a 40 minute drive. They're having their yearly "Toro Festival," and that's no bull because "toro" is Japanese for "tuna." The high points of the meal were as follows: the fried "oha" (fried oysters), some shrimp as large as small handguns (complete with shell and head), barbecued tuna ribs (like spare ribs, but from a large tuna--extremely tasty), and the broiled tuna tail (tastes like delicious tender steak). The low point was something called "Eel with no eyes." This tasted like a breaded and fried mass of rubber bands. I think next time I want the "eel with eyes." Actually, I think they meant that the guy who gathered the eels had no eyes, and accidentally gathered large snails and slugs instead. "Chewy" does go far enough to describe this dish.

One other high point was the raw tuna. I know that many of you don't care for raw fish, but it really was delicious, the best I've ever had. There was also some delicious fried smelt and some "ok, but not to write home about" breaded fried fish eggs. (Ah, there I go, I wrote home about it anyway.) Oh, but that no-eyed eel. That was something to remember, like the time you accidentally ate the flying ant, or something like that. Oh yeah, we also had beer.

Back to Dong Gang (aka Tungkang) on Sunday for more blue fin tuna. Different restaurant, no blind eel. Everything was delicious. We went with our good friends, I-Ching's family. I cannot say enough about the deliciousness of braised blue fin tuna tail. You would never know you were eating fish. It tastes like fork-tender roast beef. My students love the way my eyes light up when I talk about food. Speaking of my students, my master's level English class (the group I've had for the whole year) gave me a wonderful surprise going away party yesterday. They are so great. They brought all these wonderful dishes. They even remembered how much I like turkey, so they brought turkey wings. They not only remembered how much I like fried chicken, they remembered that I loved the chicken they served at Carrefour and brought a batch of it from there. They brought blue fin tuna from Dong Gang. All sorts of fruit and local dishes.

They sang to me. They sang "To Sir With Love." They worked this all out without me knowing anything was going to happen. Oh, I knew something was going to happen, but nothing like this. I gave a speech. They asked Eva Mei and I to sing. I sang "More." Eva Mei sang a Chinese song. Then we did our "Johnny Remember Me" duet. We took pictures. So many students came up to me and told me how much they appreciated my teaching and how much they'd remember me. I'm not trying to brag--it was so moving--nothing like this has ever happened to me.

The rest of the day, my doctoral students also spoke so kindly to me. I mean, I really think that most of them actually meant the things they said! I will miss my students so much. So many became my friends. I will never forget them.

Today President Lin invited me to a faculty meeting and presented me with a beautiful plaque. He is having a dinner in my honor tonight. I tell you these things like a kid joyfully describing his Christmas presents to his friends.

We leave here day after tomorrow. All year we looked forward to going home, but now it's so hard to leave. We'll always remember the beauty we found here and we'll soon forget the troubles and worries we had. They all seem so long ago now.

Click here for entries from September to November 2002